


My Name in Your Breath, Your Name on My Lips

by Eagle_Grass_16



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Damen (Captive Prince), But they're making it work, Except with letters because they don't have phones, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time Bottoming, First Time Topping, Fluff, Letters, M/M, Past Sexual Abuse, Sexting, Smut, not the healthiest of relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:48:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22081315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eagle_Grass_16/pseuds/Eagle_Grass_16
Summary: Damen and Laurent write dirty letters to each other.________________________________My body aches with longing for yours, especially at night, and in sleep I dream of you fucking me.Yours,Laurent
Relationships: Damen & Laurent (Captive Prince), Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 130





	My Name in Your Breath, Your Name on My Lips

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as fluffy smut, something light-hearted, but the actual sex ended up being kind of painful in addition to being kind of sweet (if I do say so myself).  
>   
> ***Just a warning that unpleasant and/or problematic events in the original work are mentioned in this fic.

The King's chambers at Marlas felt empty.

Damen lay on the large bed, his upward stare unfocused, his limbs flung out haphazardly from his body. He had been here three days, and each day had been filled with grueling tasks to complete, some difficult and others simply tedious: orders to give, arrangements to be made, people to meet. Each night he returned to these chambers feeling exhausted, but unfulfilled.

It had been seven months since the alliance between Akielos and Vere was formally announced and it was decided Marlas would be the joint administrative center of the two kingdoms. Five months since any Akielon unrest over Damianos reclaiming the throne had been settled, since the wound given to Damen by Kastor had been deemed completely healed, and Laurent had left Ios to return to Arles. Almost three months since their time at the palace in Lentos, the last time they were together.

Damen missed him: his acerbic remarks and keen observations and ice-blue eyes, which thawed into something darker and deeper whenever they made love.

With a growl of frustration, Damen realised thinking about Laurent had made him aroused. This was becoming a frequent occurrence, and Damen knew from experience the relief he'd get from his own hand could not be compared to making love with Laurent.

But Laurent wouldn't be here for at least another two weeks.

Damen's hand slipped beneath the folds of his chiton, his fingers wrapping around his cock. When he began flicking his wrist, the movements were half-hearted, and he abandoned the endeavour altogether after a few strokes.

Damen sat up with a sigh. He brought himself from his bed to the writing desk and sat down before it, then cleared a space on the surface. He took up a pen and spread a sheet of parchment on the desk.

_Laurent,_

_How are things in Arles? You no doubt know I arrived in Marlas a few days ago. When we were here last, you told me you missed me, though you had been drunk and didn't remember it afterwards._

_I miss you now; I have been missing you since your departure from Ios._

_Administrative work busies me throughout the day, and physical training brings me enough exhaustion that I sleep without trouble at night. But these days I feel the passage of time acutely—it is very slow. It matters not how much I accomplish, the days are unsatisfying. I cannot wait until your arrival. Two weeks is a fortnight too long._

_Yours,_  
_Damen_

❖

Laurent's reply came seven days later:

_Damianos,_

_By the time you get this, I will have set out from Arles. At any rate I am glad to hear that your days have not been boring and that you sleep well at night. I, too, cannot wait to be there with you, as I am sure I will replace your slumberous nights with more enjoyable activities._

_I miss you too._

Damen's body heated further at the next words, written in that same royal scrawl of Laurent's.

_My body aches with longing for yours, especially at night, and in sleep I dream of you fucking me._

_Yours,_  
_Laurent_

Damen could just imagine the small, devilish smirk on Laurent's face as he penned those words.

Damen snatched a piece of blank parchment and responded.

_Laurent,_

_I hope your journey is smooth-going, and I look forward to sharing my nights with you when you are here._

_I must confess it pleases me to hear that I make a frequent appearance in your dreams. It is only fair that you know you appear in mine, too._

Determined to one-up Laurent, Damen continues.

_You are as beautiful in my dreams as you are in actuality, and just as lethal. We usually begin with kissing. In my dreams, you arch your back when my lips travel over the peaks of your nipples. And when my fingers close over that most eager part of your anatomy, your hips jerk into my grip. Your body, tense and controlled, is somehow pliant under my touch._

_In my dreams, you come with my name in your breath._

_I miss your voice._

_Yours,_  
_Damen_

❖

The reply came four days later, quicker this time, as Laurent's party approached Marlas:

_Damianos,_

_The journey is fine. You are kind to ask._

_I have greatly enjoyed your last letter. It has made me impatient. I wish I were in your dreams, so that I could feel the wet warmth of your mouth on my lips, my neck, my chest. I want to feel your fingers wrapped around my cock and inside of me, not necessarily in that order, and preferably both at the same time. I want to come apart under your touch, and watch you come apart from mine._

_You fuck me differently in every one of my dreams, Damen. Sometimes it is hard and fast and absolutely filthy; sometimes it is slow and soft and I almost beg; sometimes we do it outside, under sunlight or moonlight, and it is delicious because anyone could walk by and see us. If I come in my dreams, it is always with your name on my lips._

_I miss your voice, too, and I miss our kisses._

_Yours,_  
_Laurent_

❖

_Laurent,_

_Your last letter was as enjoyable as it was torturous, for it vexes me immensely to read about the things I long to but cannot do. I desire your presence so much that it matters not what we do as long as you are here, physically, and we can touch skin to skin._

_I have not been able to stop imagining the things you mentioned in your letter, in painful detail, and when you arrive in a few days I think I will not be able to stop myself from whisking you away in the first moment. And in the King's chambers, I will make love to you—or you to me, again it matters not, as long as I have you once more in my arms. In my bed. I want to do everything with you. I want to feel you inside of me, if you are amenable._

_I crave all of you, Laurent, from your eyes, to your lips, to the tautness of your body, the sounds you make in the throes of pleasure; and perhaps most badly I crave the company of your brilliant mind._

_Yours,_  
_Damen_

❖

The knock on Damen's door came two nights later.

Damen frowned. It was late, past midnight, and he had already informed his guards that he intended to rest.

"Yes, enter," said Damen, pushing himself up so that he sat at the edge of his bed, his feet on the floor.

He watched warily as the door swung inwards. Then his wariness turned into an amalgamation of surprise and breathless happiness, because the figure that stepped into the chambers was everywhere familiar, achingly familiar.

" _Laurent._ "

Laurent smiled. "Damen. Hello."

His golden hair was wind-tossed, his eyes bright, his clothes somehow still impeccable after a fortnight of travel.

"When did you—I wasn't informed—"

"I came ahead," said Laurent, "to deliver my reply to your letter."

"What is your reply?"

Laurent made his way towards the bed and sat down gracefully beside Damen. He unlaced his boots and kicked them off, then fell backwards onto the mattress. He reached up, closed his fingers over the fabric of Damen's clothing and gave a gentle tug. Damen allowed himself to be guided down into the kiss; the moment of contact between their mouths was blissful relief. It was homecoming.

"Let me show you," Laurent murmured.

"Yes."

Damen let Laurent push him onto his back and climb over him. Laurent's hands busied themselves undoing Damen's clothes and then his own, his fingers weaving with stark efficiency through cloth and lace.

The feeling of bare skin on bare skin made Damen want more, rutting his hips up and seeking more contact. The movement brought their roused cocks together, and they both gasped. Laurent's eyes fell briefly closed. A moment later, his hand reached down between them and took their cocks in his hand, running his fingers up, down, around.

Damen's fingers were buried in Laurent's hair in the barest of tugs; Laurent's didn't seem to mind. Their bodies moved almost leisurely against one another, slow, the way Damen knew Laurent preferred it. The build was delicious, but, having been so long without Laurent's touch, Damen could already begin to feel the delightful premonitions of his climax. He said lowly: "Laurent, wait. If you keep going, I'm—"

"Yes," Laurent said, "Damen. _Come._ "

Damen's back cambered as warm relief pulsed through and out of his body. He pulled Laurent down into a kiss and muffled his cries with Laurent's mouth. Laurent's fingers stroked him through his pleasure, as if wringing it out of him. Damen finally permitted Laurent to break the kiss when enough of his mind returned for him to process that Laurent hadn't yet come.

"First drawer," said Damen, tilting his chin towards the nightstand beside the bed.

Laurent followed his gaze and reached over. He opened the top drawer and retrieved the phial of oil. Unstoppering it, he made to offer it to Damen.

Damen gave a slight shake of his head and nudged it back at Laurent. He watched Laurent's eyes widen.

"Do you mean it?" said Laurent. His voice was hushed.

"I mean it," said Damen, holding his gaze steady.

Laurent shifted nervously. "I'm—I've never done this before."

"I know. Neither have I."

Laurent's swallow was visible, and Damen brought him down gently for a kiss.

"Do you want to?" Damen asked.

There was a few seconds of internal struggle, before Laurent said, "Yes."

He stared down at the unstoppered phial in his hand, then tentatively dipped two fingers into it, swirling them, as if stalling for time. When Laurent finally set the phial back on the nightstand and scooted down along Damen's body, Damen put the soles of his feet on the mattress and opened his knees, giving Laurent easier access.

The first touch of Laurent's fingertips on the sensitive skin around his body's entrance sent a slight jolt through Damen. Laurent's fingers were cool and cautious, slippery with oil. They moved in a careful massage, stirring skitters of sensation in Damen's pelvis. Damen closed his eyes, savouring the feeling. He felt Laurent's breaths, then his lips, and he kissed Laurent back with equal care; slow; sweet.

When Damen felt the questioning prod of the tip of Laurent's finger, he said, "Yes," and made his body relax as Laurent pressed in, knuckle by knuckle. Once inside, Laurent didn't move. He waited.

The only other time Damen had had anything in there was in the baths of Ios, before his fight with Govart in the ring, when Laurent had ordered him prepared to be raped for the entertainment of the Veretian court. The servant's touch then had been perfunctory, brisk. What followed had been—Damen refused to think about that now. He turned his mind back to Laurent's touch.

"It feels... strange," said Damen. "Intimate."

"Do you want—is it good?" said Laurent.

Damen smiled at him, feeling strangely bashful. "Yes, it's good. Do continue—"

His request ended a little abruptly, cut short by a small gasp when Laurent curved his finger and dragged it down and back out, brushing over some amazing spot inside Damen, a part of his body Damen knew existed but had never explored. Damen's knees wobbled in the air. He said, "Do that again."

Laurent complied, his fingers growing more confident.

"You look lovely," said Laurent, holding Damen's eyes as his finger teased back and forth inside Damen. "Like this."

"You like it," said Damen.

Laurent flushed. "Yes." Like admitting something private.

"I do, too."

The stretch when Laurent pushed in with two fingers was piquant. In the first moments the sensation probably would be slightly uncomfortable if Damen had to be completely objective, but he didn't. All Damen could think was that he wanted more of this, because these were Laurent's fingers, and they moved with tenderness and precision, and Laurent's eyes were wide and alert, documenting each tiny tell of Damen's body, making Damen's chest ache in the sweetest possible way.

Laurent's other hand closed around Damen's cock, which had grown hard again, and almost involuntarily Damen thrust up into Laurent's grip. The combination of fucking into Laurent's hand and being fucked by Laurent's fingers was exquisite, something Damen had never known with any previous lover. It was as if he could feel Laurent everywhere, around him, over him, inside him. He ought to feel some alarm at the vulnerability, but Laurent's fingers were so careful, and Laurent held himself so attentively, and Damen had never felt vulnerability quite like _this_.

" _Laurent_ ," Damen breathed, pushing down onto Laurent's fingers. "I want—you can—"

Laurent bent his fingers and pressed, deliberately, _there_ , making Damen suck in a sharp breath, the muscles of his stomach tightening then relaxing.

"Laurent," he said again. "Fuck me."

Laurent shook his head, once. "Not yet. It's only two fingers—"

Damen opened his mouth to protest, but then saw the fear in Laurent's eyes, realised how terrified Laurent was of hurting him. Instead, Damen said, "Do three, now. I'm ready."

Laurent nodded, and when he pushed in with three fingers, Damen tried not to tense at the burn. But this was Laurent, and he noticed. Laurent's fingers paused, then pulled back, and Damen felt the loss acutely. It had stung, but he had wanted it. He still wanted it. He said, "Laurent—"

Then he saw Laurent reach away and uncap the phial, pouring more oil into his cupped hand, and then Laurent's fingers returned: two first, then three. The burn was barely there, and soon Damen didn't feel it anymore.

They stayed that way for a while, Laurent's fingers moving in and out, curling. His other hand slipping around Damen's cock, enough to keep him wanting, but not enough for his climax to build. Damen could feel the deliberate way Laurent seemed to be stretching him, gradual, considerate, and Damen's heart felt like it was enveloped in something warm and soft. He had never felt cherished like this. No one would have thought it warranted, no one would have dared—he was Damianos of Akielos, he was a skilled soldier, the prince, then the king, he was the protector of his kingdom.

Finally, Laurent pulled his fingers out, and Damen felt somehow empty, though there had not been anything there to begin with, before this night.

"Turn around," said Laurent, his words soft, "and get on your knees."

"Why?" said Damen. "I want to see you."

"It's—it's more comfortable that way," said Laurent, "the first time." There was something in his voice that broke Damen's heart, told Damen all he needed to know about why Laurent knew this, made Damen want to throttle the Regent many times over for having hurt Laurent like that, for having hurt Laurent at all.

Damen turned over and held himself up on his knees. He felt Laurent shift, felt one of Laurent's hands at his hip, the other presumably guiding Laurent's cock, which was pressing at Damen's entrance. Damen pushed back, ignoring the burn as the tip breached him. Against him he felt Laurent tensing, surprised and alarmed, before he began pressing in farther. The glide was slow, and the drag of Laurent's cock inside Damen was heady, the sensation so newly intimate it made Damen's breath catch in his throat.

When Laurent had pressed all the way in, he said, "All right?"

Damen said, "Yes. More than."

And Laurent began to move. He did not pull back much, but rather rocked his hips against Damen's in small, rhythmic nudges. He reached around and trailed his fingers over Damen's chest, circling around Damen's nipples before making their way down to between Damen's legs, where Damen's cock hung, heavy.

It was similar to before, when Laurent's fingers had been both inside him and around him, but now it was amplified. The vulnerability was doubled, shared. He was letting Laurent in, trusting Laurent, permitting Laurent to take his pleasure inside his body; and in turn Laurent was giving himself over to Damen, trusting Damen to trust him.

Damen clenched his muscles, experimentally, feeling the shape of Laurent inside him, feeling Laurent's body shudder with a breath, the stammer of Laurent's hips. The tightening of his muscles brought back a suggestion of pain, but Damen was more focused on the reality of having Laurent _there_ , the fullness of the sensation. The closeness.

" _Damen_ ," said Laurent, and his voice wavered.

Damen felt Laurent pull back and push forth, still with that same palpable carefulness, each movement of his hips painstakingly controlled. They fucked like this, slow, tender, cautiously exploratory, until Damen said, a little hoarsely: "I want to see you, Laurent."

There was a small hesitant pause before Laurent answered. "Yes. All right."

Their hips pressed flush together, lingering for another moment, before Laurent pulled out. Damen turned onto his back, took one glance up at Laurent's wide, dark eyes and pinked cheeks and brought him close for a kiss, deep and longing and raw.

"Come back inside," Damen urged against Laurent's mouth. He felt Laurent's nod. Then Laurent was pushing back in, a smooth, continuous slide, and Damen hadn't known how much he could crave this.

Their lovemaking was still slow, but with each thrust Laurent seemed to unwind, as if he was reading Damen's reactions on his face, and what he saw reassured him. Laurent's mathematical mind had, upon the switch in position, wasted no time in rediscovering the perfect angle, and the slide of their bodies had become languorous. Damen did not try to stifle the way his spine arched or the uneven rhythm of his breathing. Wordlessly he wanted to tell Laurent, over and over, that he trusted him, wanted him.

His body had grown accustomed to the size and shape of Laurent's cock, and he spared a brief moment to wonder how long he would feel empty afterwards.

Then Laurent drove sharply into him, his thrust angled just so, the graze deliberate, his hand closing around Damen's cock and his thumb flicking over the tip, and suddenly pleasure was crashing through Damen. Damen's fingers clutched hard over Laurent's shoulders and his legs wrapped around Laurent's hips, instinctively clinging his body to Laurent. He cried out in surprise, a debauched _oh_ falling past his lips as heavy, relentless warmth spread from his pelvis outward, a quiver audible in the single syllable.

Damen had not recognised his own climax approaching, the novel sensations of being fucked for the first time and by Laurent occupying too much of his mind. But Laurent, who had been watching, had known. He had gently ratcheted Damen's body tighter and tighter, then made it snap, swathing Damen in the folds of unexpected pleasure.

Beneath Damen's fingertips, Laurent's body was held in a tautness Damen knew to be Laurent on the verge of climax. Damen steadied his breath long enough to murmur Laurent's name by his ear. His ankles pulled Laurent insistently, purposely inwards, and when he clenched down around Laurent's cock, Laurent's eyes shuttered and his body jerked helplessly against him.

"Damen," he said. " _Damen_." His golden lashes glinted against the pale flush of his face. They were wet. Damen watched as a tear fell from Laurent's eye, felt it land and blossom on his throat.

Damen drew Laurent down and turned them onto their sides, facing each other. Laurent slipped out of him in the process, leaving a hollow chill where he'd been. Damen cupped Laurent's face with his hand, his thumb brushing light against Laurent's cheek.

Laurent's eyes were downcast when he spoke. "I—" He didn't move, but somehow still managed to give the impression of folding into himself. "Sorry."

Shock coursed through Damen. He had never heard Laurent apologise; not for whipping him, not for the public humiliation with Ancel in the palace garden at Arles. Likewise Damen had never apologised for the years of misery he had caused Laurent—for Auguste, for what Laurent had to deal with after Marlas, with the Regent looming over him. The history between them was shattered glass, irreparable. Too many unforgivable things littered their past, words of apology would only hurt them both further, so instead they'd acknowledged the convolutions of the past wordlessly: the only way they could. It would be too painful to admit aloud that they had every reason to hate each other, but didn't.

Laurent's shaky apology now was not for any of those things.

It was for his wet lashes and the one teardrop that had fallen onto Damen. It was for his uncertainties and his fears and his inexperience.

"No," said Damen. "There's no need to apologise. Not for this."

Laurent's gaze lifted and met Damen's, and they let themselves drift together into a kiss, painful and delicate and salty, with sweat or tears or both.

When they parted, Laurent said, "Did you like it?"

"Yes."

At the blunt, unambiguous response, Laurent's flush turned into an expression of endearing embarrassment, and he glanced away. He made to leave the bed, gesturing vaguely at the mess they'd created. "I should get—"

Damen's fingers went around Laurent's wrist, tugging Laurent back onto the bed, into his arms. "No," said Damen. "We can head to the baths together, later."

Laurent acquiesced.

It was several minutes of solemn but companionable silence before Laurent said, quietly: "The first time. It was—I wasn't—no one warned me it would hurt."

"It was two months after Marlas"— _two months after you killed Auguste_ , Laurent didn't say—"and in those moments I felt like I was dying too. I thought, if dying hurts this much, then I don't want it. I thought at least they said Auguste's death was quick, and then hated myself for thinking that. And when it was over, I felt broken everywhere." Laurent let out a shuddering breath. "I cried. I remember the way he smiled at the sight of my tears. It was the last time I ever cried. Until tonight."

Damen's chest knotted in horror, in pain, in regret.

"That's why I was—particular—about a few things, when we were doing it," said Laurent.

Damen wove their fingers together. He said, "Thank you."

"At Ravenel—that was the first time I thought I might understand why they called it making love." Laurent met Damen's eyes. "I kept expecting it to hurt, but it didn't. At least not—physically."

"It was one of the hardest things I've ever done, making that decision. To—admit that I wanted something I shouldn't, something I was terrified of." Softly: "I thought it would make it easier for me to hate you, Damen. I was a fool."

Remorse washed through Damen. He remembered the details—Laurent's painful control, the practiced way he had turned onto his stomach, his insistence that he had done this before, his refusal to elaborate, the incongruity of Laurent's seeming innocence, _You want to take me, as a man takes a boy_.

He had been a boy, six years ago.

"Don't apologise," said Laurent before Damen could do just that. "Because I wanted it. I hated myself for it, because a part of me had been—hoping that you would be different. Make it feel different, better. The way everyone else seemed to feel it. I wanted it," he said again.

Then: "You made it feel different. A good different." Laurent's mouth curved wryly. "Imagine how conflicted I was, afterwards."

"And now?" said Damen.

"I've accepted," said Laurent, "that I'll always want you." He slung an arm over the place where Damen's neck and shoulders met, and closed the distance between them with a slow, soft, indulgent kiss.

"Laurent," said Damen.

"Can we—again?" Laurent's words, haltingly, mumbled onto Damen's lips. The feeling of Laurent against him, half-roused.

"Yes," said Damen. "Make love to me again, Laurent."

Laurent's throat bobbed. A blush dyed his pale skin. A breath of quiet laughter, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was doing.

"Yes. Damen."

❖

Damen woke the next morning with Laurent warm in his arms and the past night fresh in his memories. He gazed at Laurent's sleeping face, the slightly parted lips, the strands of golden hair that had fallen over his forehead and cheeks and were fluttering with his breath. Eyes that opened to beautiful depths of bottomless blue when Laurent blinked drowsily awake.

"It's very bright," Laurent commented.

"It's almost noon," said Damen.

"My retinue arrives in late afternoon," said Laurent. His expression morphed into a combination of mild distaste and helpless amusement. "We're—messy."

"Let's go to the baths," said Damen, wincing when he sat up.

"Sore?" Laurent asked.

"Sore," Damen replied.

"Bad?"

"Not too bad," said Damen. "But it's... I don't want to move." A laugh left his lips, quiet and content, and he let his head fall to rest on Laurent's shoulder.

Laurent wobbled before righting himself, and his answering laugh seeped through Damen like mellifluous sunlight. 

They sat for a while. Then Laurent said, "I'll get a cloth to wipe us up?"

Damen shook his head and sighed with a touch of dramatics. "No. The baths." At Laurent's lifted eyebrows: "I can walk."

❖

The baths at Marlas were not comparable to the ones at Ios or Arles, but the space was relatively well-maintained, and there were traces of gilded ornamentation from ninety years of Veretian occupation.

Wordlessly, Laurent took it upon himself to wash Damen, massaging soap into Damen's hair and body. When he was done, he went around the baths, dipping his fingers into each of the pools. He directed Damen to an ovoid one and told him to get in.

The water was warm against his skin. It felt lazily luxurious, like remedial ambrosia for the soreness between his thighs.

Laurent washed himself with efficient scrubs and rinses, then made his way to where Damen was. Slowly, he lowered himself into the water, a slight grimace on his face at the sudden heat.

"Is it too hot?" said Damen.

"It's the second coolest one here," said Laurent, "and the coolest one is freezing." He took a visible breath, then stepped forward, immersing himself fully in the bathwater. For a moment he simply stood there, unmoving, trying to accustom himself to the temperature.

Damen watched him from where he sat half-sprawled on the built-in ledge, waited, until Laurent finally steeled himself and made his way over to him.

"You're pink," said Damen.

"Shut up," said Laurent, positioning his knees on the ledge so that he was in Damen's lap, straddling Damen.

Damen had been sitting in the water, his face ensconced by steam for so long, that Laurent's lips felt cool against his own when they kissed. Their movements against each other generated waves in the pool that rocked their bodies together in gentle, involuntary undulations. Their cocks touched only occasionally, serendipitous brushes that were somehow more comforting than sensual. There was no haste for climax. Their kisses were soft, unrushed, a language of breaths and tongues and heartbeats.

Then Laurent pulled back, panting, his cheeks flushed red. "I can't—it's too warm in here," he said. He pushed away from Damen and padded to the edge, then climbed out of the pool, his limbs glistening with water. He headed to the adjacent pool and slipped in, arms hugging his chest as he adjusted to the colder water there.

"Stop smiling," said Laurent.

Damen laughed, and scooted along the edge of his pool so that he was closer to Laurent. "You're very sensitive to heat."

"Yes."

"You're very sensitive," said Damen, "in general."

"Stop talking," said Laurent.

"Should I join you over there?"

"If you want."

Damen pulled himself out of the warm clutches of water and walked over to the edge of Laurent's pool. He sat down, submerging only his feet and calves. The water felt icy against his heat-soaked skin.

"Aren't you cold?" Damen asked.

"I was," said Laurent, wrapping his hand around Damen's wrist.

Then, without any warning, he tugged, hard, and Damen toppled into the pool, gasping at the shock of cold water all around him.

" _Laurent_!" he said.

Laurent pulled him close and kissed him, laughing against his mouth.

"It's cold," Damen complained. It didn't sound very convincing.

"I'm not cold," said Laurent. Then, as if in explanation: "You're here."

**Author's Note:**

>  _Sooo_... For me Damen and Laurent's relationship is great but also kind of iffy, because there's just so much bad stuff between them—and they've both done things to each other that I think in our society we'd find unforgivable.  
>   
> (For Laurent, this includes: drugging Damen and then tossing him into the ring to be raped by Govart, whipping Damen, and forcing Damen to receive oral sex. For Damen, this includes: killing Laurent's brother (though this was not anything personal) and having sex with Laurent even though he believed that Laurent didn't know who he was, and that if Laurent did he wouldn't have sex with him.)  
>   
> But ultimately Damen and Laurent live somewhere not here, and the rules seem to be different there—their story is theirs, and if it's unrealistic or wrong or unhealthy, well, I guess it's good to remember it's fiction.  
>   
>  **Things I googled writing this:** _how to address letters to royalty_ (did not help), _soreness after anal sex_ , _gentle synonym_ , _first time receiving anal sex_ , _writers describe orgasms_ (was unhelpful), _tears on eyelashes_ (all this got me were ads for fake lashes and articles about eyelashes falling into your eyes)


End file.
